


In Which Sherlock is an Ass Per Usual

by indecisive (darling_highness)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darling_highness/pseuds/indecisive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on the writing prompt of "Person A, the shorter one of your OTP, dragging a chair over and standing on it whenever they feel the need to yell at person B, the much taller person in the relationship."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Sherlock is an Ass Per Usual

“Sherlock, I'm home!” John called from the foot of the stairs. He ascended them to the living room, carrying the week's groceries. “I hope you cleaned up the bloody flat like I asked-” He hadn't. Before john sat in their living room an even bigger mess than when he had left. Papers and things hung off the wall in extravagant disarray, and the floor was littered with more papers and sealed jars of god knows what. The blond felt as though he were about to pass out. He retreated into the hall to enter the kitchen through the other door, only to find a pile of things keeping the it from opening all the way. John sighed, kicking things out of his way to make a path to the table. He was wading in a sea of _stuff_ , stuff he didn't even know they owned. “Sherlock!” John howled, dumping his bags on the table. To his left a pile of books stirred, and the infamous Sherlock Holmes rose from its contents, peering about as if he had been interrupted from something more important than drowning in paper. “What are you doing?” the blond cried with anger bubbling in his throat. “I asked you to clean our flat and you're just- you're- _what_ are you doing?”

“Working on a case, of course.” Sherlock looked down his nose at his flatmate, eyebrows raised. He seemed less than phased by everything around him. 

John shook his head, huffing in frustration. “You were supposed to clean this rubbish up,” he seethed. 

Sherlock waved his hand and turned on his heel. “I'll do that when I've solved this. You're interrupting me.” He picked up a few things from the table and examined them, muttering to himself about Lord only knows. John's anger only grew with his partner's flippant attitude. 

“No. No no no no. No. I gave you days to clean this place, and you'll do it. You weren't working on this case before!” 

Sherlock looked at the other over his shoulder, eyes squinted. “Because I only just heard about it, _John._ ” He spoke through his teeth now, turning to face the blond man. 

John couldn't stand it when Sherlock talked back. It was his turn to be angry and scold the other. He had to get that message across. John yanked a dining chair angrily from it's place, and clambered on to it. He stood only head and shoulders above Sherlock now, but it would suffice. The chair came in handy during most of their fights, considering their extreme height difference. This wasn't the first time John used this method to gain the upper hand. “Don't you _dare_ act like that's more important than what I've been asking of you for days. I've asked you to do this one simple task for me, and you can't because you're solving a bleeding case! Just typical.” he threw his arms in the air. 

“Someone's been murdered, John!” He deflected. 

“I don't care!” John howled. “Well, I do because that's just awful but I- you know what I mean! That doesn't matter right now! You never help me out around here. I'm not here to wait on you. I'm your boyfriend, not a servant, for God's sake! I can't do everything myself.” The doctor was suddenly out of breath and he paused to recollect himself. 

Sherlock watched him, face blank. “You're right,” he relented. John wasn't sure if he said that just to appease him, or if he was serious. “You're not my servant. I'll clean my mess,” he sighed with reluctance. 

John was skeptical, of course. “You're going to clean up today. You.” 

Sherlock nodded, resting his hands over John's on his hips. “I'll do it.” 

“You'll just make Mrs. Hudson clean up, won't you?” John drawled.  
“ _I_ will do it, okay?” John reached one hand up and caressed his partner's cheek, beckoning his face lower. John hesitated, glaring at the brunet before bowing his head and kissing him. 

He placed his own hands on either side of Sherlock's face, brushing his thumbs along those sharp cheekbones. “Good. Go on, get to it,” he snipped, patting Sherlock's face. He was still upset with him, but better now that he was getting what he asked for in the first place. “I'll make us dinner.” 


End file.
